


The Adventures of Greg House (and James Wilson)

by teyla



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 03:19:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9216287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teyla/pseuds/teyla
Summary: Five House/Wilson ficlets imported from LiveJournal. They contain fluff, pre-slash, PWP, mild H/C, and nothing upsetting or angsty.





	1. Roommates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 2007 for wihluta, unbeta’ed, crossposted from LJ with slight edits.

Actually, House is pretty easy to live with.

Sure, there's the thing about him leaving his stuff lying around all over the place, all the time. But it bothers Wilson less than he thought it would. House's mess has a system, and it never gets out of hand. That makes sense. Having stuff lying around on the floor probably isn't the best idea if your balance is as precarious as House's.

And there's the thing about him not doing any housework, ever. Well, Wilson knew that before he moved in. At least House is consistent in this habit. Wilson knows that if he wants to have House doing stuff, he has to force him. That took a bit of getting used to, but actually, it's less annoying than some of the habits the various women he's lived with have had.

House isn't exactly high-maintenance, either. Sure, he has his moments, but as a general rule, he's fine as long as Wilson doesn't touch the stereo and the remote and leaves House the more comfortable corner of the couch.

The best thing about living with House is that there are no expectations. House doesn't compromise, but he doesn't expect him to, either. It's a battle of wills, usually held while watching TV and trying not to be the one who gets up first to go to the bathroom and get the beer on the way back. Sometimes, in rare cases, Wilson even wins. He has the advantage of six years juniority and a healthier bladder.

Yes, living with House is actually pretty low-stress.

"You're not serious." Cuddy raises an eyebrow at him. "Last time, it ended with you filing through his cane."

Wilson smiles a little and shrugs. "Well, it's different this time."

"Is it." Cuddy sounds sceptic.

"It is." Wilson finishes his drink and gathers the remains of his lunch together before he leans back and looks across the table at Cuddy's tray. He points at her bag of potato chips. "You still gonna eat those?"


	2. Incident in a Medical Clinic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 2007 for an open prompt (“Quite unbelievably, I want someone to be sweet to me when I am in absolutely horrible pain.” – injured Wilson to House) and crossposted from LJ with slight edits. Unbeta’ed.

"Quite unbelievably, I want someone to be sweet to me when I am in absolutely horrible pain."

At Wilson's petulant tone, House quickly licked his lips and came up with a snarky remark to cover up the snort that had almost escaped him. Not that Wilson's didn't deserve to be mocked. But there was fun mocking, and there was not-so-fun-mocking, and Wilson didn't deserve the second kind at the moment. "Should I call Nurse Simmons from OB?" he asked. "I hear she's really good with pampering and treating patients like her very own sweety-pie rugrats."

Wilson rolled his eyes and winced, raising a hand to the band-aid that covered the gash just above his left eyebrow. House batted his hand away - a little to hard, maybe, considering Wilson’s small yelp - and snarled, "Don't touch it. It's just stopped bleeding."

It had been a good-natured snarl, but Wilson gave him a weepy side-glance all the same. "It _hurts_ ," he complained. "Excuse me for not being Mr. Sunshine when I feel like I've just been hit by an avalanche."

"An avalanche of your own stupidity, maybe," House said and used his cane to pull up a chair to Wilson's exam bed. "It's your own fault you're lying here. You don't get to complain about it." Wilson answered with a sulky silence, which House interpreted as agreement. His smirk broadened. "Seriously, Wilson," he said. "You could have just called maintenance."

"I did call maintenance! Twice. They just didn't show up."

"So you decided to go DIY on hospital equipment. Not a good choice if you're the kind of person that wouldn't know a jackhammer from a percussion drill."

"I might not be made for working construction, but I am capable of changing a light bulb, House." Wilson sounded less like a martyr already, which pleased House. He started twirling his cane and raised an eyebrow.

"So, you always do it this way. Each changed light bulb means a trip to the ER. All in a day's work."

"No, I-" Wilson stopped and let out an exasperated huff, wincing again as he moved his head. House almost felt something like sympathy. Almost. "It was an accident, House. It could have happened to you, too."

"Hah, yes, I'm certainly a candidate to be toppling off chairs while changing light bulbs," House snorted, and Wilson sighed.

"Well, okay, bad example. But-"

"- it still couldn't have happened to anyone," House finished for him. "People do change light bulbs all the time, and they stand on chairs to do it. But, Wilson - your office chair?"

Wilson closed his eyes in resignation. "It was the only chair handy."

"It has wheels! It swivels!"

"I know! I was careful!"

House made a small noise and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I can see that."

Wilson sighed again. "Okay, I was being an idiot. I admit it. I won't do it again. Now will you please either go away or stop aggravating my headache from hell?"

House looked at him for a moment before he smirked and bounced his cane a couple of times. "Want me to get you some acetaminophen?" he asked.

Wilson's annoyed expression changed to one of relief. "Yes," he said. "That would be great. Thanks, House."

House got up and hobbled over to the medicine cabinet, still smirking. He wasn't going to let Wilson forget this any time soon. However, for now he'd mocked and laughed at him enough. Wouldn't do to waste his ammunition all at once. Besides, another one of those miserable glances from brown Bambi-eyes, and House would not be able to hide his relief about Wilson having gotten away with nothing but a minor concussion and some bruises.

There was no way he was going to let that happen. He couldn’t give Wilson the idea that he actually _cared_.


	3. Can I Call You James?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 2007 and crossposted from LJ with slight edits. Thanks to TLI for beta’ing.

Wilson looks at the woman across from him. She's young - younger than him, anyway - and has beautiful reddish-blonde hair. Her eyes have this weird thing going on, like they can't decide whether to be blue or green or grey, and she has a nice smile. It's not all that surprising that he ended up having lunch with her. She's smart and funny, too.

He almost wants to tell her, no, please, don't call me James. "Sure," he says, smiling at her.

She continues to talk, but Wilson's mind is elsewhere. He's thinking about his name, James Evan Wilson. Not a particularly remarkable name - not John Smith, but not Tiberius van der Ghast, either. There's the thing about the initials, which he admittedly never noticed until House pointed it out to him in one of their first conversations. Other than that, it's a name that goes well with his normal face, his normal haircut and his normal job.

Before he met House, he'd been James to his friends and family, Wilson to his colleagues, and the nice doctor with the pretty smile to his patients. Then House had barged into his life, and the issue of his name had turned into a complicated science. Family still call him James, which is the way he likes it. However, since he met House, he's not so sure about what friends should call him.

House doesn't call him James. Wilson doesn't want him to. James, that's for the people who see his pretty smile and his normal hair-cut. House calls him Wilson. Or, on rare occasions, he calls him Jimmy, which he hasn't been called since he had a teenage shouting match with his mom about it. No one calls the great James Wilson "Jimmy". Except that with House, Jimmy is okay. Wilson can be Jimmy to House, he likes being Jimmy to House from time to time. It makes him feel like he's fourteen again, and twenty years after the end of puberty, James Wilson realizes that being fourteen is not such a bad thing.

Jimmy Wilson, that's not the well-adjusted, secure doctor with the pretty smile and the lab-coat. Jimmy Wilson, that's the guy who drives a Volvo because his first wife, whom he divorced over ten years ago, said it was a good car. It's the guy who really, genuinely likes the taste of broccoli and doesn't eat it just because it's healthy. Jimmy Wilson loves to sprawl on House's living room couch, drink beer and watch a ton of bad movies in rapid succession, and - even though this is something he will never tell House - he likes cooking for House, because House is the only one who ever really gives him the feeling that the gesture is being appreciated. In short, Jimmy Wilson is the guy James Wilson becomes when he sheds the skin of the pretty doctor with the nice smile.

But if that's so, then why, he asks himself, why is it that he's only Jimmy Wilson to House? He should be Jimmy Wilson to everybody except patients and colleagues. He should have been Jimmy Wilson to his wives, and if the woman across from him is going to be his next girlfriend, she probably shouldn't start calling him James.

Wilson flinches as his pager goes off. He smiles apologetically and checks the display. It reads: _911 BORED!_

A broad smile starts to spread on his face, but he stops it before the woman across from him can see it. He looks up, displaying his most worried expression. "I'm sorry," he says, sounding like he's genuinely sorry to cut short the conversation. "I'm going to have to take this."

"Of course!" she says, nodding. "Don't let me keep you, James. I know how busy you are."

He answers her smile, and hopes that she’ll think that it only looks as fake as it feels because his mind is being occupied by the alleged emergency.

As he walks away, he pretends not to notice the wistful look she is giving him. He does feel a little relieved, though. This way, at least he saves himself another painful break-up.


	4. Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 2007 and crossposted from LJ with slight edits. Thanks to Neery and TLI for beta’ing.

"What's this?"

Wilson looked up from the chart he'd been writing in to see House, who'd picked something up from the desk and was turning it in his hands. He raised his eyebrows. "It's a tie."

House gave him one of his looks. "I can see that," he said. "It's not _your_ kind of tie, though."

Wilson turned back to his charts. "Someone gave it to me." 

House unrolled the tie and held it up to examine it. "I like someone's taste in ties," he said. "What's the dog's name again? Odie?" He frowned. "He seems to be salivatingly challenged."

Wilson didn't look up. "It's from Bevvie."

House didn't answer, but there was a rustling of paper and Wilson knew House had picked up the card that came with the tie. The card with the picture of a hugely grinning Garfield on the front.

"Deer Dr. Wilson," House read out loud, careful to pronounce each spelling mistake. "You always were blue ties, so I pigged a blue ty for you. You said you like doks, so it has Odie on it not Garfield but Garfield is way cooler then Odie so he is on the card. Thank you for making the Canser go away. Bevvie."

There was a moment's silence after that. "You only wear blue ties on Tuesdays," House said then.

"She always has her appointments on Tuesday," Wilson said.

"Nice reasoning." House put the tie and the card back down on the desk and leaned on his cane, grinning. "And she's right, Garfield is much cooler than Odie."

"Oh, I don't know." Wilson signed the chart with a flourish and picked up the next one. "Garfield would have to get up and kick the cane out from under you to trip you. All Odie would have to do is drool a puddle onto slippery linoleum and enjoy the show."

A slow smile spread on House's face. "You've thought about this, haven't you?" He dropped onto the couch opposite the desk and continued, "Yeah, maybe. But Garfield can swallow a whole lasagna in one gulp. How cool is that?"

_Here we go,_ thought Wilson with the part of his brain that wasn't occupied with trying to come up with a come-back. He knew he was going to lose this argument, as pointless as it was. But that was okay. After all, he always did. That was how it worked.

-###-

When Wilson came into his office the next morning, he found a gift sitting on the papers on his desk - a small box, wrapped in blue-and-red gift paper. Curiously, Wilson picked up the card that was lying beside it - strangely enough, it had the yellow-and-black sign for radioactivity on the front. He opened it.

_"Hey Pete - For your nights out. -GH"_

_Pete?_ With any other signature, Wilson would have assumed that some sort of mix-up had occurred and left the gift unopened. But GH - Greg House - didn't mix up the one present he bought per year. Even more intrigued, Wilson picked up the box and unwrapped it.

It was a tie. Red and blue, with a silvery spider web weaving over the lower half.

Puzzled, Wilson walked around his desk and sat down, turning the tie in his hands. Pete. Spider web. Radioactivity?

And then he got it. A smile spread on his face. Carefully, he folded up the tie and put it back into its box. Saving it for a night out.

Peter Parker had had it wrong. Sometimes, people could appreciate the loser and still know about the hero.


	5. Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 2007 and crossposted from LJ with slight edits. Thanks to housepiglet for beta’ing.

Wilson felt pleasant warmth surrounding him and sighed contentedly, turning his head to the side and snuggling into the pillow without opening his eyes. _Sunday_ , he thought, and smiled a little to himself. It had been an exhausting week, but today there was nothing on the schedule. He was determined to keep it that way.

He was about to drift off again when he felt a whiff of cool air on his thighs, and then felt something scratchy brush over the skin of his leg. He blinked and opened his eyes, raising his head. “House?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

The fact that House was with him wasn’t all that unexpected, considering the fact that this was House’s bed in House’s bedroom in House’s apartment. Wilson had stayed after last night’s Hitchcock marathon when House decided that he was too drunk to drive. Not that Wilson needed much convincing.

What _was_ unexpected, though, was that House was not lying next to him. He’d moved a bit further down on the bed and had pushed the blanket aside, resting his chin on Wilson’s thigh. He was now looking up at Wilson, eyebrows raised.

“Morning,” he said, and then bent down to press a soft kiss on the tender skin inside Wilson’s thigh. Wilson felt the tingling sensation from the touch move up to his groin, making his half-hearted morning wood perk up.

He licked his lips. “What’re you up to?” 

House smiled. “Never mind me,” he said, and he went back to nuzzling the inside of Wilson’s thigh, this time running the tip of his tongue over the skin and upwards, pushing Wilson’s boxers aside.

Wilson laid his head back down on the pillow and swallowed, closing his eyes as he felt his cock hardening fully at House’s touch. There was some movement, and then Wilson gasped softly as he felt the light pressure of House pressing his mouth against his erection. Warm moisture touched the tender skin as House exhaled through the fabric of Wilson’s boxers, and Wilson bit his lip.

A pair of hands were at his waist, tugging at his pants, and he was only too willing to lift his hips to allow House to pull his boxers down and free his now fully erect cock. The cool air made him shiver as he felt the brush of House’s stubble against his skin, and he gasped as House ran his tongue across the base of his cock.

He heard House chuckle softly, but was too distracted to react when House began to nuzzle his balls. He opened his eyes, his fingers curling into the bedding. His heart was pounding against his ribs. House was gently caressing his balls with his lips and tongue, and Wilson had to keep himself from reaching down to touch himself.

House seemed to notice his impatience and for once didn’t seem out to torture him. Wilson felt House’s tongue work its way up to the base of his cock. House licked along the shaft once before taking Wilson into his mouth.

As he felt the warm heat of House’s mouth close around his cock, Wilson moaned softly and closed his eyes again. He had to keep himself from thrusting into House’s mouth and forced himself to wait for House to set the pace instead. House took his time, swirling his tongue along Wilson’s cock, slowly dragging his lips over it and applying gentle pressure. He drew back until his lips were circling the head, and then slowly moved downwards again. Wilson felt a surge run through him as he felt House’s lips sliding along his cock, further and further down, while House’s tongue ran from side to side, circling his erection. House was moving agonizingly slowly, and Wilson fisted the bedding in his hands, his breathing getting faster by the second.

The sensation of the head of his cock brushing against the back of House’s throat made him gasp, and then House finally sped up, drawing back more quickly this time, his teeth grazing Wilson’s skin. Wilson closed his eyes and couldn’t keep himself from moaning as he felt himself approaching the edge.

His orgasm made him arch off the bed. He felt himself come into House’s mouth, long, hard pulses surging through him until all the tension was gone from his body and he slumped back, his heart racing. He was dimly aware of fingers brushing over his stomach, slipping his boxers back into place. The mattress bounced, and a warm body snuggled up to him, an arm sneaking over his chest. He opened his eyes and looked across at House, who was grinning at him, his expression rather smug. Wilson smiled.

“Morning, House,” he said.

House’s smirk broadened. “Morning. Sleep well?”

Wilson nodded. “Very. I’m feeling so relaxed, in fact, that I don’t think I’ll be able to get up for, say, the next four hundred years.”


End file.
